


Cosmos 259

by bellyuppo



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Crack, Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Gen, Klaus is a god
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-06
Updated: 2019-05-06
Packaged: 2020-02-27 09:10:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18735994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellyuppo/pseuds/bellyuppo
Summary: Blue chairs, thirteen gods, and one bet.There's a reason boredom never lasts long around here.





	Cosmos 259

Klaus plops down into the hard plastic chair.

It's blue.

Of decent make, he supposes, one of those standard one-size-fits-all that's designed to hug your ass if you've checked off modern society's elite beauty standards but otherwise highly uncomfortable.

A physical reminder that your ass is either too skinny or too fat, too plump or too flat—and Klaus, drug-addicted and rebelliously malnourished deity that he is, wriggles, irked and unable to find a comfy spot to fit his needs.

The plastic chair's got ridges grooved into the surface. Presumably for friction but who knows. As far as he's concerned if you slip while sitting down in a blue plastic chair without ridges you're best left just staying at home.

He considers that, flicking his tongue over the crest of his soft palette. It's bitter, a bit sweet, and he really can't seem to focus on anything but this stupid chair because, damn it, this stuff is dirty.

He huffs, resolving to cross the latest distributor off his list as soon as he's found a new one.

One that's not so prone to experimenting.

Steady, like this plastic chair.

Klaus rockets to his feet, thinking now would be the time to stop fixating on a piece of shitty furniture.

"Question," he leads, grinning salaciously. Three out of twelve heads turn to him, though only one of the three does it without a smidge of skepticism.

Well. Someone's been spreading rumors about him.

How  _divine_  of them.

"I was just thinking the other day, you know? I was thinking, gee, Klaus, for a god responsible for all of creation, creation has gotten really, really dull. And I realized—it has. It's boring as fuck."

He sneezes, snuffling in place, happy to fill the silence and knowing he is in the right because he is being heard and not nailed to a wall by Haeji and her killer diamond-tipped pen.

"I mean, humans. They are just, so cute. Aren't they cute? And some of them are actually pretty fucking smart, all considered. Remind me to show you my ring holders sometime because, seriously. The things these kids come up with for a living."

He shakes his head, shrugging.

"Anyway, let's face it. Nothing fun happens anymore."

Predictably, no one answers him, not even sweet Nigel who keeps glancing at him with her fingers all tangled up in her sleeves like a nervous tick. Klaus would coo if he wasn't so preoccupied trying to get himself violently ejected from this pointless conference.

"Where is the drama?" he cries dramatically. He teeters on his feet, sobriety finally kicking in before he rights himself with a light cough. "The jealousy, the rage, the primordial drive for subjugation that set kingdoms on  _fire_ , gentlefolks—" Selene raises their brow, dainty as a flower petal, "—and most maleficent plagues—" they nods, sipping their paint stripper, appeased.

Klaus continues, emboldened.

" _We_ ," he intones with a flourish, "are  _stagnating."_

Chuchi flutes a tune through her fife, which they all deftly translate to:  _Well, I like it. I think it's peaceful. S'nice._

Klaus scoffs. "Darling, please. You don't get a say in this."

"Where are your vocal cords?" Alma asks, leaning forward curiously.

_Pyrolysed in an underwater volcano. Went free-diving and they singed right off, haha._

The two launch into a delighted discussion about carbon and combustion and caramelization. All the Cs. Spotlight momentarily stolen from him, Klaus slouches pitifully, moon-eyed and morose, flitting from chair to chair until one, Von, grunts, gruff and irritable. "For god's sake, you're wearing holes in the marble, boy. Sit  _down."_

"I suppose you have a proposal," Rocco says, pertly cutting Klaus off from pointing to Von and ousting him as a tool.

Referring to himself third-god. Honestly. It's so last millennium.

"As a matter of fact I do," Klaus asserts, innocently as a lamb. He flaps a hand in the air, assuring, "Nothing drastic. We don't want a repeat of Cosmos 182."

A collective shudder bumps through the room at the mention of the forbidden cosmos.

"We blacklisted that from conversation," Haeji hisses, jabbing him with her signature glare. Klaus feels instantaneously hot for it, breaking out in a rolling sweat.

It's probably his kidneys, broiling into a mush.

She does so love to go for his kidneys.

"It was a unanimous verdict,” she seethes. “We have  _rights._ "

Klaus scritches his nails through his scruff, chastened. "It won't get that far."  _Probably._  "It only happened last time because one of us did the  _thing_  with that other  _thing."_

They all turn accusingly to Ishani, who chuckles, not appearing the slightest bit remorseful as he croons to the separate consciousness residing in his left flank. "And we enjoyed it too, Mushi, didn't we?"

Mushi nods, reminiscent and wistful. "We miss the those times, Ishani, don't we?"

"Had a right blast, Mushi, didn't we?"

"But the  _hangover._  We don't miss that, Ishani, do we?"

"Enough," Rocco sighs, sparing them another vigorous volley of do-we-didn't-wes from the twins. "If you're making a wager, I call dibs on scorekeeper."

"Oh,  _finally,_ " Klaus says, bouncing on his toes. "I don't know how we ever get things done around here. Majority rule, my utopia-fine ass. Y'all are just slow."

"Which game?" Alma asks. She perks up. "Quest of the champions?"

"We did that ten cosmoses ago," Von grumbles grouchily.

“Demigod parenting competition?”

"Forty cosmoses ago."

"Monster brawl to the death."

“What?  _No,_ ” FIRASH says, alarmed. He clutches his pet basilisk to his bosom in a panic and it blinks, paralyzingly. “The fuck's wrong with you, that's  _evil."_

"I got it!” she grins, snapping her fingers. “Race for the apocalypse.”

“It’s like you’re not even  _trying,”_  Von scrubs his face, sobbing into his hands. “Unoriginality. Just kill Us now.”

 _Was that a royal Us?_  Chuchi blows, brows drawn and disturbed.

“Who knows,” Klaus says, rolling his eyes. He claps his hands, drawing all awareness to himself. “How about—race for the apocalypse, but with a twist?”

“Go on,” Wolfram whistles through his bunny mask. It wraps around his whole head with no punctures for eyes, ears, or nose, but includes a small flap for the mouth so every time he speaks it’s with a high-pitched squeak that grates on everyone’s nerves.

Klaus gives him kudos for resisting compulsive pacifism.

Anyway, “Instead of ending the world,” he explains, gesticulating primly, "we  _save_  it."

"You think you're cute, but you're not," Mushi informs him. "We certainly think so, don't we, Ishani?"

"Why yes, Mushi, we d—"

Klaus steamrolls them, waggling the fingers of one hand before ticking them off one after another. "Single superpower of choice, no memory, no demi-offspring to oracle for help. In the event of pointless death or becoming an apocalyptic agent yourself, you forfeit.”

“Same world, same time period?” Jane asks, rapidly typing up the terms, as she’s wont to do.

The printer whirs, connecting to the celestial WIFI they set up sometime in the last century.

Rocco accepts the steaming new contract to peruse the fine print. “All in favor?”

Klaus can't quite suppress a squeal as all hands—plus a claw—rise, though the crafty grin on Nigel’s face showcasing all 46 rows of her incisors maybe merits some concern.

Eh, whatever.

"By the way, do we get to change our names?"

 

—

 

Klaus tackles Vanya to the ground. He grapples for her bow, yanking it from her hands to toss it in the general direction of Ben's glowing tentacles, one of which gratefully snatches it out of the air. She tosses her violin, now useless, and that's such a shock that for a second he freezes, motionless and flabbergasted, and nearly brains himself when he has to lunge for the floor to escape a savage fist to his skull.

She struggles, kicking and punching and shrieking all manner of abuse. Klaus is so distracted trying to defend himself that he doesn't see the sky caving over them all, the moon already splintered and gone. He does, however, hear the almighty creak just before the lighting beam falls from its support, right above their fragile, unprotected heads. He sprints, throwing himself and into Vanya, landing with a thud that's echoed by a louder crash. He doesn't fully register the pain until he realizes his throat is growing hoarse from his own screaming.

" _Fuck!_  Fuck, that fucking hurts," he whimpers, staring at the bone that's sticking from the flesh of his calf in a strangely detached sort of way. "Fuck. Oh my god, I'm gonna hurl."

" _Klaus!_  Klaus, what are you— your leg. Your leg, oh my god, what have I done?" Vanya scrambles to her knees, sidling close, hands hovering over the wound with a look on her face that he's sure matches his own. "I-I, we need to stop the bleeding. Fuck, I don't know what I'm doing. I don't know what I'm doing, Klaus, I'm so sorry."

She sobs, and Klaus feels his heart breaking.

"H-hey, it's okay." He scoots a bit closer, before he stills, paling. "U-um. Right. Shit, that's still— and I— Actually, no.  _No,_  it is not okay to end the fucking world, Vanya, what the hell. It may be a shitty world but there is so much you haven't tried yet. I've read your book. There is also no way that you aren't a virgin but that is the least of your worries, girlfriend, have you ever heard of a martini? And you know what, fuck you. Fuck. You. I may not have been the best brother, but I was there when you needed me and you can't deny that."

Klaus takes a deep breath, stretching his arms out, keeps stretching despite Vanya flinching back with her eyes on his leg because he is going to give his sister a hug and no measly fractured limb will stop him.

"But we should have been there for each other more often. Helped each other, more often. Especially you. And we can try to be— we  _will_  be better going forward, but we can't do that without you giving this,  _us,_  a chance. That's what we're asking for: a second chance."

His feet may have gone numb from the blood loss.

He keeps talking.

"You don't forgive us, fine, I'm not forcing that from you. That is one hundred percent, fully your call to make. But no matter what happens, no matter what you or I or Five or Allison or Ben or Diego or, ew, even Luther does, no matter what, we're family. We're  _family,_  Vanya. And we love you."

Klaus pauses, arms shaking. He and Vanya part, him with the distinct feeling that he's just vomited his heart all over the place but at least it's not actual vomit. He's just a bit woozy now and  _no, I'm fine, Vanya, fainting is beneath me,_  and  _nope, nevermind, that must be the shock setting in now, wow._

Darkness seeps into the edges of his vision. Crisis averted, the sky finally begins to knit itself together. He barely hears the fireworks and the  _Congratulations_  song blaring in a loop that no human can sense before he loses consciousness, his memories returning to him in a flood that he lacks the mental fortitude to marshal into its original chaos.

_…Fuck, yeah, I won. Heavenly Sovereign Supreme, here I come…_

He faints, dead to the world and all his vicarious children.

 

—

 

Epilogue:

 

Von storms into Rocco’s office. His face looks a bit melt-y from the heat of his wrath.

"But how could Klaus have won?” he demands. “He  _died._ "

Rocco flips a page through his tome, unconcerned. "Not according to the contract, he didn't."

"I don't understand."

"'Death, either at the hands of or to the aid of another of the Thirteen Fuckups of the Cosmos, with or without prior knowledge to the identity or identities of all relevant members of the Thirteen Fuckups of the Cosmos, will strictly be rendered null and void.'"

"Oh, come on, that wasn't in the contract, I've  _read_  the— er. Huh."

"Always peruse the fine print, fool. Have you learned nothing?"

"Goddamnit."

"Klaus was right. That  _is_  last millennium."

"Oh, fuck you too."

 

—

 

Epilogue II:

 

Freshly returned to their holy dimension, Klaus and Alma—formerly one Luther Hargreeves—, Chuchi—aka Siberian shaman badass—, and Haeji—tragically deceased at seventeen due to overdose of viagra and cashews—assemble in the observatory, peering down into the projection screen which somehow captures each individual and the entire biosphere in a single 220 square inch pane. Through it, the surviving twenty or so Holes in the Condom, as they've taken to calling them,  _Holes_  for short, among whom are the remaining four Hargreeves siblings with Ben having finally moved on, mill around aimlessly, lost and confused ever since they were quietly visited in their dreams and had their powers redacted from their nascent life streams.

"Powers. In  _humans_ ," Haeji scowls, utterly befuddled. "How did this happen?"

Klaus points to Chuchi, who points to Alma, who points to little Nigel curled up with a book in a cozy corner of the main lounge. She blinks, looking up, flicking her gaze to the screen and back before grinning, sharp as knives and just as adorable.

"My power was Magneto," she chirps, sighing dreamily. "I was gonna grow a mutant army."

And that's that.

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a review. Thanks :)


End file.
